Loud
by Boston Manor
Summary: Holmes and Watson are in danger of having a 'slight' falling out over a new invention Watson is trying out. Can the march of progress reach even Sherlock Holmes?


**Disclaimer: Holmes and Watson are owned by ACD. Other persons mentioned are real persons but in a fictional setting.**

**Loud**

"So what do you think, Holmes?" Watson's tone was challenging. He looked eagerly at his friend. The sun shone through the farmhouse windows, bees busied themselves on the flowers outside the window. In short, all was well with the world. Apart, that is, from the tension now present in the room.

"I don't like it, Watson. I don't like it at all."

"So you're against progress, then?"

Holmes shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I didn't say that, my dear fellow. You know, you really must stop putting words into my mouth – and thoughts into my mind. Your fiction will suffer for it."

"Confound it, Holmes!" barked Watson. "It's because of 'my fiction' as you call it that we've been asked to try it."

"I very much doubt that it is due to the quality of your writing that we have been asked. More likely is the quality of your handwriting."

"My handwriting? What has my handwriting got to do with anything?"

"Anything? It has EVERYTHING to do with it." Holmes paused, perhaps weighing his words cautiously. And then threw caution to the wind. "You are a doctor, Watson. What are doctors famous for?"

"Healing people? Or is that too obvious?"

Holmes snorted. "Obvious indeed. My dear fellow, it is not your fault. But your handwriting follows your trade. Doctors are famous for the poor quality of their handwriting. It is well known that some of what is written is only understandable by others of the profession. It is as if there is a code between you all. No wonder some of your writing gets misinterpreted by Mr Conan Doyle's publishers. It's as much as they can do to work out what language it's written in I would imagine."

Watson was almost ready to glare at Holmes, but then smiled. "But what do you think of it, Holmes?"

"Great heavens, man, you are like a child with a new toy."

"It is the future, Holmes. It will transform my trade – both of them, with good fortune. You may be able to understand my handwriting after all."

"I cannot see how."

"A Loud is the key."

"Aloud? What is aloud? Something that is a sound, Watson. That is 'aloud'. Please do not be so obtuse."

"Not 'aloud', a 'loud'." Watson was doing his best to be patient, but Holmes was having none of it.

"It is a ridiculous name for a ridiculous invention. It will never catch on."

"Holmes, it is 1922. Of course it will catch on. Just think of it – the transformation of writing as we know it. No more inkwells – what are you doing, man?"

Holmes had dipped the implement in question into a bottle of ink on the table, and was now writing with it.

"No! No! It has its own ink!"

"Sorry."

"Look, give it to me." Watson took the implement from Holmes and wiped it clean of ink. Then he reached for a fresh sheet of writing paper, set it upon the table, and started to write. "There, you see? It already has ink in it. The ink is in the shaft of the pen, and a small ball …."

There was a rush of ink all over the paper.

"Falls out, by the look of it," commented Holmes dryly.

"That was because you dipped it in the ink well, Holmes. You have broken it. I will have to get another sample from John."

"Watson, give it up. Your Mr Loud is a tanner. He works with leather. His invention may be ideal for his purposes of marking out cuts of leather, but it will never replace pen and ink. Admit it, my friend, it is a step too far."

"You are impossible, Holmes!" laughed Watson. "If you had your way, we would still be writing with quills."

"And what is wrong with that, may I ask?" queried his colleague with a look of mild derision. "It is the handwriting quality that counts – the form of the words, the strokes, the embellishments – those are what count. It is a mark of a good education that one can write with a steady hand in whatever circumstances one finds oneself in. And, anyway – can you imagine the confusion?"

"Confusion, Holmes?"

"Indeed. 'Pass the Loud, please.' 'Have you got a Loud?' 'That is a nice Loud you have there.' Ridiculous. Confusing."

Watson admitted defeat. The new pen had emptied its contents all over the paper, ruining it. The thick ink was already congealing – the table might well be ruined without rapid action.

"Very well, Holmes, you win. I'll suggest to John Loud that he goes back to the drawing board. Pen and ink are here to stay, as you so rightly say. The word of Mr Sherlock Holmes will prevail. While I'm at it, I'll ask him to write to his friend as well – I think Mr Biro was working on something similar. He needs to know he's following a dead end too."


End file.
